The Long and Winding Road
by Panamint
Summary: Sequel to 'Your Cheatin' Heart', so if you haven't read that one, this one won't make sense. Anyway, in this story, we find out the effects of Bruce's shooting on the beach. From Dick's POV. And yes, he's still Robin.
1. Chapter 1

**_Part Two:_**

**_The Long and Winding Road_**

**DISCLAIMER: Still don't own 'em, DC Comics does, I wish I had them, blah, blah, blah… well, okay, DC Comics doesn't own the Beatles, which is where I got the name of this piece, but you know what I mean. And I don't own the BEATLES, EITHER! XP**

**Okay, okay, sorry for taking so long. I had some trouble with this one. I hope it isn't too bad... if it is, please tell me nicely, and killing the author is illegal, so... don't do it, 'kay?**

* * *

Back at the hospital. That was one place I never expected to see the inside of again. Yet there we sat, waiting. It was excruciating. 

As things turned out, Bruce hadn't been killed after all—that was just my stupid, overactive emotions jumping to wrong conclusions. He sure had looked dead, though.

I shivered involuntarily, recalling that moment… the shot, June's cruel laughter, and then my own hands squeezing, squeezing the life out of her. Once I had calmed down a little, Alfred had taken me back to the house and just let me be for a while. For that, I was grateful. I wanted to be alone with the only thought that kept flashing uncontrollably across my mind—_Bruce is dead, Bruce is dead, Bruce is dead…_

I must have cried myself to sleep, and when I woke up, Alfred was sitting there watching over me.

For one moment, I had forgotten. For one glorious moment, I thought it was an ordinary school day and that Alfred was there to make sure I woke up and was there on time.

Then it all came flooding back to me so fast… too fast.

"She killed him, Alfred," I had whispered, just barely holding back fresh tears. "She killed him!"

"No one was killed, Master Dick."

Wait a minute.

"But…"

"I assure you, Master Bruce is very much alive. Yes, he was wounded, but believe me—he will live."

And Alfred went on to explain to me how June had escaped from the officers not long after we had gone home. The police followed her trail to our beach house, where Bruce's horse had ended up after being scared off by the shot. They followed his hoof prints and were shocked and horrified to find an unconscious Bruce on the ground and a crazed Dick trying to strangle June. They instantly took the man to the hospital, and then attended to the boy.

"And, if I am not mistaken," Alfred finished up with a reassuring smile, "they are treating him as we speak."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Bruce was alive! Miracle!

For the next few seconds, I was totally speechless. And, as anyone will tell you, that is an exceptionally rare thing for this teenager. But if you had just thought someone was dead, then found out they were alive, you'd be pretty speechless, too!

"He's… alive? Are you sure?" I questioned shakily, not wanting to get my hopes up too high.

Alfred smiled at me and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Yes, Master Dick. I am _very_ sure. And if you wish, I shall drive you to the hospital to see him yourself. After you have had something to eat."

"Aw, Alfred—"

"None of that now," he scolded me gently. "I have some hot soup waiting for you downstairs. If you will just come with me…"

As impatient as I was to just see Bruce, I knew that I'd never get out of the house alive unless I did absolutely everything that Alfred told me to. So I obeyed, albeit reluctantly, and we were soon on our way back to the hospital.

And there we were, two hours later, still waiting for admittance. It was driving me batty—pardon the pun. It's a habit of mine. It annoys everybody I know, too, especially Bruce…

Bruce… when WERE we going to be able to see him, anyway?

I stood up and began pacing. Millions of thoughts crowded themselves into my mind, all commanding my immediate attention.

After ten minutes of this pacing, Alfred said in a slightly aggravated tone, "Please sit down, Master Dick, this is not a maternity ward."

I took my seat but remained silent, still lost in my own thoughts.

"You've got to have a little patience, young master."

"Me? Patience? I thought you knew me better than that."

Alfred was about to say something sarcastic right back at me, and he always won battles that involved sarcasm. So I was especially happy when a nurse showed up and called us over to her.

"How is he? Can we see him now?" I asked anxiously.

"Well, you can see him, but I'm afraid he won't be able to see you."

The bottom dropped out of my stomach. My insides twisted uncomfortably. I definitely did not like the sound of this. I didn't really want to ask what she meant by that, but I knew I had to. So I did.

"I'm afraid," the nurse began. I always hate sentences that start like that. "That the bullet really messed up Mr. Wayne's optic nerves. Now…"

She seemed hesitant to continue, but I had already figured out what I didn't want to know.

"He's blind, isn't he?" I said stonily.

The nurse nodded mutely.

Alfred looked at me as if he was making sure that I wouldn't go crazy like on the beach and try to strangle the nurse or something.

But I didn't. I didn't even cry or scream like I had before. For some reason, I _couldn't_ do those things, even though I wanted to.

I asked what room he was in. She told me and I headed towards the elevator without even changing expression. I felt numb all over, and couldn't help but wonder if this was the way Bruce felt every time he didn't want the world to know what he was thinking (which was quite often).

I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button. The door shut and we began to move.

Silence reigned until the elevator stopped and the doors opened. Even then, it was very quiet. Hospitals usually are.

I led the way down the corridor. That nurse had said that Bruce was in room 565. So I started counting the odd-numbered rooms.

557…

559…

561…

"Are you sure you're alright, Master Dick?"

563…

"Of course. Why shouldn't I be?" I responded curtly. I knew that Alfred was just worried about my lack of an emotional reaction and that I shouldn't have been so rude, but recent events had really left me with a really short temper. Not that my temper wasn't short in the first place.

565.

This was it.

"I'll be waiting right here for you, Master Dick."

"You mean you're not going in with me?"

"I think you should be alone with him for a while, sir."

"…Yeah…"

I was suddenly very nervous. All the way up to the room, I had seriously expected the trustworthy Alfred to be with me every minute. The thought that he'd actually let me go in on my own hadn't even occurred to me!

Ever so slowly, I nudged the door open and stepped inside. Alfred shut it behind me. Without the light from the corridor, it was almost completely dark in the large room. Only the cracks between the blinds offered light, and even then, not very much of it. Everything there seemed to have been painted various shades of gray and black.

"Come in, Dick."

I jumped a little at the sound, my heart pounding rapidly in my throat. It was Bruce's voice; I'd know it anywhere.

"How did you—?"

"The nurse told me you'd be up soon."

"Oh."

Pause. I suddenly felt very, very sick. I didn't know how Bruce felt about all this yet. Although I was pretty good at figuring out what he was thinking, I couldn't tell anything from just a voice in the dark.

"You can come closer, you know."

"Oh," I said again. It was as if all of my memory banks had been erased except for that one word.

I don't know what the heck I was scared of. This was _Bruce, _for crying out loud. I knew him; he was still the same guy. There was nothing to be frightened of.

However, despite the lack of logic in my fears, I hadn't been so nervous in a long time. But I knew better than to disobey Bruce. If I did, _then_ I'd have a good reason to be nervous. A really good reason.

I approached the bed, trembling from head to toe, not quite knowing what to expect.

It wasn't as bad as it could have been, though. It wasn't like his face was horribly disfigured or any of that. He looked almost exactly the same, actually. The only differences were a whitish bandage wrapped around his head, and the fact that he wasn't looking at me at all. He wasn't looking at anything. Just… staring.

I suddenly realized what I had been so nervous about: facing the truth.

"You're scared, aren't you?"

Wonderful. I had known that animals could smell fear, but people! I did not need this.

"Well…"

"Don't lie."

"Yes, then!"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome!"

Rather ridiculous conversation, really, but we were both still really uncomfortable with this. We didn't know what to say to each other now that things had changed so radically.

"We're alone. Right?"

I glanced around to check and nodded, only to remember with a painful jolt that Bruce couldn't see me.

"Yes," I said aloud.

"You realize what this means, don't you?"

"Um… no?"

"Robin will be flying solo from now on."

I just about fell over. He was right! The Caped Crusader was no longer available, so it would be up to the Boy Wonder to protect the fair city of Gotham from then on. Alone.

But I'd never done anything alone in my life! Back in the circus, we were the Flying Graysons—please note the plural—and we had always been there for each other. And then, after my parents died and I became Robin, Batman had always been there for me. Sometimes, Superman or Wonder Woman or some other random superhero would be there to help Robin as well. But even they wouldn't be able to travel to Gotham City on a nightly basis just to help an uncertain fifteen-year-old.

"We both knew this would happen someday, Dick."

"Sure, but I thought I'd be all grown up by the time you… well, never mind what I thought… but I'm not ready for this! I'M the 'Boy Blunder', YOU'RE the Dark Knight! No comparison!"

"You don't actually believe that 'Boy Blunder' business, do you?"

Actually, yes, I did. I was always messing up, always making mistakes, always distracting the good guys and helping the bad guys—inadvertently, of course. And when you hear something often enough, even if it's from riff-raff like Penguin and Joker, you start to believe it. But I couldn't say any of that to…

"I'll take your silence as a yes."

…Bruce. Argh.

"Look," he continued. "I didn't ask for this, and I don't want it any more than you do. But we got it, and you know as well as I do that Gotham's residents need you. You are not about to let them down."

"I… I can't!"

"_And why not?_"

"Because this is all my fault—I couldn't possibly…"

"What did you just say?"

I took a deep breath and repeated myself.

"_What_ put a ridiculous idea like _that_ into your head?"

Once again, Bruce was using that tone of voice that meant he didn't have so much as a clue to figure out how my teenage brain worked.

"Because it's the truth! Who was the one who insisted on going back right then? If I hadn't, then you wouldn't have—"

"Dick, I think you're just upset. Don't take this out on yourself."

"Of course I'm upset!" I cried, ignoring his last sentence. "This whole stinkin' thing has me upset! You don't know what it's like to think that the person who means the most to you was just murdered, and to realize that it's happened again—that you've just had to watch someone else you care about killed before your eyes! You know a lot of things, Bruce, but that's one thing you don't! I do!"

So that's where all my emotions had gotten to.

He was quiet for a minute. He held up a hand and beckoned for me to come closer. There was still a good two feet between us. Don't ask how he knew that I wasn't already as close as I could get—maybe he noticed that my voice was still a bit distant or something.

Anyway, I moved. I moved until I was practically touching the sheets.

"Now tell me the truth. Did you think that June had killed me earlier?"

"You—you know about June?"

"That's a pretty pointless question. Now answer mine."

I suddenly felt embarrassed about what I had thought, and what I had just said to him. It was the unwritten law in my life to never, _ever_ discuss my emotions with Bruce the way I just had.

"Well, what else was I supposed to think?" I answered defensively. "Was it my fault you looked dead?"

"Don't get your feathers ruffled, kid, I was just asking."

"Sorry."

"No you're not."

I wanted to scream. Bruce had never been the easiest person to get along with, but now he was just impossible! I knew he must be feeling frustrated because of his lost sight, but still.

"As soon as we get home, call Superman and ask him to help you out for your first couple of nights. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to oblige."

"I don't suppose abdication is an option."

"No."

"I didn't think so," I sighed unhappily. Then I turned around and left the darkened room behind me, more depressed than ever.

Alfred must have seen the overcast expression on my face, but he said nothing about it. He just told me not to wander off while he was gone and disappeared inside. I wished him better luck with Bruce than I had had just before the door closed.

Once again, that crumbling feeling hit me—Bruce seemed to feel as if being blind was as good as being dead, and the Batman was already gone. My whole life began to collapse all over again, and I didn't know how to fix it.

I slid down against the wall, making sure I wasn't close enough to any doors to get squashed if one opened. Then I pulled my knees up to my chest and buried my head in my folded arms. Everything was just coming at me too quickly. I liked my life to be fast-paced, but this was overkill.

Once again, I was drowning. But this time, I didn't know how to get to the surface.

* * *

**Me: Well, I thought that was pretty good, if I do say so myself.**

**Dick (sourly): Well nobody ASKED you.**

**Me: Oh, what's your problem?**

**Dick: 'What's my problem?'! Were you even reading this thing? You've destroyed my whole life, and you have the nerve to ask what my problem is!**

**Me: Don't worry! Things'll work out okay!**

**Dick: (lots of grumbling)**

**Me: Yeah, well, ignoring Mr. Gloomy over here, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to try the new 'reply' buttons near the reviews for my reviewer replies. If they work, I'll use them from now on. If not, I'll go back to the traditional way. Live long and prosper! ;-)**


	2. Chapter 2

**_The Long and Winding Road_**

**_Chapter Two_**

**DISCLAIMER: I own NOTHING here except that one kid Sally I mention ever-so-briefly. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go search for my Christmas presents. ;) After all, they're MY presents, right?... RIGHT?... well...!**

* * *

We got home on the first of September. Summer had been lousy that year, and I was glad it was over. But I also realized that the really tough part had yet to start. We needed to help Bruce adjust to this new way of life, and getting a guy like him adjusted to anything is no easy task. 

I wanted to help—truly I did—but I was scared of messing up. I always messed up at everything I tried. I remember this one time when we were down in the Batcave. It was about three or four years ago, I guess. Anyway, we had been working on some science experiment that day and were using those (very breakable) little glass tubes.

"Forgive me for saying so, Master Robin," Alfred had said upon discovering that I had broken yet another tube, "but for such a graceful trapeze artist, you must be the clumsiest boy I've ever met!"

"That's what my dad used to say," I had responded cheerily.

That seems to be my life story: I try really hard and then goof it up, often hurting myself or somebody else. Gets discouraging after a while, and I have to admit that I was more than just a little happy when school started. I was still a bit underweight, but I insisted I was healthy enough to go and was soon on my way.

Because Alfred decided he wanted someone to be with Bruce at all times, he couldn't drive me to school anymore. Instead, I had to call a cab. Pretty smelly things, actually, but I didn't complain.

Being the first day of my second year of high school, I didn't know any of my teachers or where any of my classrooms were. Just what I needed in my life—more confusion.

As if things weren't bad enough, everybody in the hallways stopped talking and started staring at me whenever I passed. Any intelligent kid who read the paper had learned about what had happened on our ill-fated summer vacation. Plus all of the teachers read the newspapers and…

WHAP!

With a cry of pain, I fell down hard, prompting amused giggles from the other students in the hallway.

_Somebody up there doesn't like me at all,_ I decided, clutching my nose, hoping it wasn't broken.

I didn't realize what had happened at first, but then I glanced up and noticed that I had forgotten to shut my locker door. I had probably crashed straight into it when I wasn't paying attention.

The school bell rang. I hastily got to my feet, collected my books and headed to first-period English, still clutching my poor nose. At least it wasn't bleeding—that was certainly a bonus.

The second I entered the classroom, everyone fell silent and turned to stare at me. Just like in the hallway. I felt my face heating up. So, trying to ignore all the looks, I took my set and stuck my nose in some random book to hide the growing redness of my face.

The girl who sat on my left—Sally Toren—tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, "Your book is upside-down."

Without even looking at her, I slammed the book shut and slouched further in my seat, staring unhappily at the ceiling.

_I hate my life._

—

The school day didn't get any better, but at least it didn't get worse. The really bad part was having to go home and face reality once again. I didn't want to. At all. So after school let out, I just hung around the baseball diamond at Gotham Central Park for a while. I leaned against a nearby tree and watched them practice. Most of the players were about my age, although some were a little older. They looked like they were having so much fun together. How long had it been since I'd had any real fun with anybody? Since the day before I got myself shot, that's when. It seemed like a million years since then, even though it had only been a few weeks.

I stayed there for about a half-hour. I would have stayed longer, except that one of the guys saw me and invited me to play. As much as I liked baseball, I was in no mood for it and declined. Then I caught a cab and left.

Ten minutes later, I was home.

"Master Dick, where have you been? You should have been here over thirty minutes ago… my word, what happened to your nose?"

Not really wanting to have to explain my trepidation about coming home or the careless incident with my locker, I just apologized with a shrug.

Alfred sighed. "_Please_ try to come home on time tomorrow. Now before you begin your homework, I believe Master Bruce wishes to speak with you."

"Great," I muttered under my breath. Alfred raised an eyebrow and gave me an odd look. I didn't bother to explain and just headed into the living room without even dropping my backpack off.

There he was, sitting on one of the couches, his back towards me. Every time I saw him, it was like rubbing salt into the wound. I hated seeing him like that. And that was just the problem—I could see him suffering, yet he couldn't see me suffering.

I stood there helplessly for a moment, waiting for Bruce to start the conversation like he had back at the hospital.

But he didn't say anything.

I was pretty sure he knew I was there, but I cleared my throat just to let him know anyway.

"You haven't called Clark yet, have you?" was all I got in the way of a response. How irritating was that? Sometimes, I wished Bruce would just _talk_ to me instead of _interrogate_ me. What did he think I was, a crook?

"Um, well, no, but—"

"Call now."

Sighing, I told him all about how I didn't feel I was ready to be fighting crime all alone, and how I'd feel like even more of a klutz if I was working with Superman, etc., etc., etc. Bruce didn't say a word throughout my arguments. He just listened. Or at least, I hoped he was listening.

Silence reigned after I finished my speech. For one satisfying minute, I thought I had won. Then:

"Call now."

I should have known better than to even THINK I had won an argument against Bruce.

And so, with a groan, I headed over to the phone and punched the numbers as hard as possible, letting out all the frustration I could in such a simple action.

_Don't pick up, don't pick up, don't pick—_

"Hello?"

_—up. You just had to do it, didn't you?_

"Yeah, er, hi. It's Dick… I suppose you've read the papers within the past two weeks…"

* * *

**Me: Just for the record, I stole that scene with the locker from a commercial I saw once--I think it was a _Smallville _parody or something.**

**Dick: How would you know? You don't watch _Smallville!_**

**Me: Yeah, well, if you don't shush, I'll tell Bruce that a certain little BIRD of his DOES!**

**Dick: (broody silence)**

**Me: Thank you. Anyway, in that commercial, the girl who (I think) is supposed to be Lois trips in the hallway, so the guy who (I think) is supposed to be Clark kind of gives her a strange look. Then he turns around and crashes straight into his locker door... well, _I _thought it was pretty funny... okay, Dick, do the replies.**

**Dick: Must I?**

**Me: Well... it IS almost Christmas... alright, I'll do 'em for you... but just this once!**

**Dick: Yippee!**

**_Reviewer Replies_**

**:)--**You are most certainly welcome! I love doing things like this...

**60's Bat-fan--**I said I was sorry! Which I really, REALLY am. Yeah, poor guys. I hope this update was quick enough for you. ;-)

**lil' Kanny--**Aw, now I feel all warm and fuzzy inside! You really like it? Great! Thanks!

**smithcrafter--**Old school is _GREAT! _And I'm glad that my sister and I aren't the only ones out there who like Bruce and Dick best (sixties series rules!)


	3. Chapter 3

**_The Long and Winding Road_**

**_Chapter Three_**

**DISCLAIMER: Unless DC Comics decides to be really, really generous all of a sudden and give Batman and Robin to me as Christmas gifts... and we all know what the odds of that are...they're not mine.**

**Ummm... please be nice to me here. I've never really written Superman/Clark Kent before. All I know is what I've read on this site and from the very, very few (as in two) episodes of the 50's series that I saw several months ago. I'll try it, though, and if anybody has any suggestions or corrections, feel free to speak up! Just no flames--it's the holiday season, so be nice, everybody. Thanks!**

* * *

That first night, things were pretty quiet for the most part. The only excitement we had had was when a couple of morons decided to try to rob the bank. Boy, were they surprised to see Superman in Batman's place. They allowed themselves to be distracted by that, so they were easy to beat up and arrest. Amateurs. 

It was around midnight. I didn't know where Clark had gotten to, so I was standing there all alone on the roof of police headquarters, watching the streets below. My thoughts began to wander. Yes, I know I should have been paying attention while on patrol, but I couldn't help it. There was too much to think about.

First, how weird was it to be there all alone? If Batman was there, he would have been breathing down my neck every three seconds, never allowing me to be off my guard. But I knew he'd never be doing that again, unless some miracle occurred. But I doubted I'd get a miracle. I was just an ordinary kid. Ordinary kids don't get miracles.

Second, I had to think about our… _my_… city. It seemed so strange to think of it as such, but wasn't it true? Robin, the Boy Wonder, lone protector of Gotham. Ugh. That's what I'd be in a couple of days. And if I goofed, like I usually did, there wouldn't be anybody left to save me or—

"_Robin!_"

I jumped about ten feet in the air, startled at the sound of Superman's voice. It was far from being as dark as Batman's, but still pretty formidable when you think about it.

"Uh… you called?"

"Yes. Only about twenty times."

Shrugging a bit, I turned around and went back to staring out at the city streets. It was a bit tough for me to make things out in the dark, but it was fairly easy to tell that all was peaceful and quiet. A complete contrast to my own life. It just wasn't fair.

"Robin," he said again, turning me around so that I had to face him, "I know how hard this must be for you."

I sighed. Then, in a quiet voice, I replied, "No you don't. Everybody says they understand, but nobody really does. Sorry if this sounds kind of corny, but… I mean…" Glancing around to make sure we were completely alone, I sank my voice even lower and continued, "Hasn't Bruce been through enough already? Why can't anything good ever happen to him?"

In an equally soft tone, Superman answered, "If you ask me, he's already gotten something good enough to last him a lifetime."

"Yeah? Like what?"

Giving me a (thankfully) light smack upside the head, he said, "Like _you_, that's what!"

He sounded like he couldn't believe I hadn't grasped that on my own, but all I could do was look up at him skeptically. Was he out of his mind?

As if reading my thoughts…

"Yes, you. You think Batman broods now; you should have seen him before he took you in!" After a brief pause, Superman apparently changed his mind and told me that I really didn't want to know after all. "But whether you believe it or not, Robin, you're one special kid. And don't you dare forget it!"

Despite the sincerity of his voice, I couldn't bring myself to accept this. It all seemed too extraordinary to be true.

Turning to face the east, Superman announced that the sun would rise in about a quarter of an hour, and that he had to be getting back to Metropolis. And don't ask how he knew exactly how long we had before sunrise, because I have yet to figure that out myself.

"Will you be able to get home alright?" he inquired.

"Sure. The Bat-cycle is parked not far from here," I told him.

"Robin, you don't even have your license yet."

"You don't tell and I won't." I grinned for the first time in what seemed like forever. "Besides, what cop in his right mind is going to pull over the Boy Wonder?"

Even as I began to make my way down the side of the building, I could hear Superman chuckling to himself as he flew away.

—

It was nearly six in the morning by the time I got home. As I might have expected, Bruce was sitting at his desk in the study, waiting for me to return.

"It went fine," I answered before he could even ask. "There was an attempted bank robbery, but by the time we got there those amateurs hadn't even found the safe."

"I'm sure they wouldn't have been as easy to take down if they hadn't been surprised by the fact that the Boy Scout was there instead of the Dark Knight," was the somewhat bitter reply.

Drawing myself up to my full height, I just told him that I didn't want to talk about it and then attempted to leave the room. But Bruce wasn't about to let me off that easy… or was that _easily_…?

"Are you still trying to run away from the truth, Dick?" he asked. Maybe it was just my tired mind, but I could have sworn that his tone was a bit on the sneering side. But I don't take that kind of insult from anybody, no matter what the tone is.

"I'm not running away from anything!"

"Yes, you are," he insisted. "Don't you think it's about time you just accepted the facts? I have."

That did it.

"No, you haven't!" I shot back hotly. "You haven't accepted it any more than I have! For once in your life, why don't you quit being stubborn and ask for _help_? No man can go through life alone—what makes you so different?"

Slowly, Bruce rose to his feet. I could tell he was more than just a little ticked off with me, but I couldn't really bring myself to care. I was sick and tired of having to watch him feeling sorry for himself, and not just about his recent blindness, either. I could understand that because the wound was still so fresh. And while I didn't expect him to ever fully recover from his parents' murder, constant brooding was just plain ridiculous.

I knew he probably intended to chew me out for saying as much—I _never_ talked back to him like that—but I wasn't about to give him the chance.

"Ever since I can remember, you've done nothing but think of yourself! Sitting there brooding all the time, without even thinking about the people around you—now I'm sorry your parents were killed. Really, I am, but mine are just as dead as yours and I don't sit around feeling sorry for myself, do I? No! I got on with my own life, just like you need to get on with yours!"

And so, with that final (and very rude) comment, I stormed from the room. I didn't even wait to hear Bruce's retort. I was tired of hearing him make excuses for himself anyway.

Here's another thing I was tired of: my conscience. Which, by the way, happened to kick in the second I slammed the door to my bedroom. It was just like in those cartoons with the guy watching the angel over one shoulder arguing with the devil over the other—half of me was glad I had finally gathered enough courage to tell Bruce off, but the other half was feeling terribly guilty over all the cruel things I had said to him.

But this was one time that I was determined to stay stubborn. I was determined _not_ to go crawling on my hands and knees begging for forgiveness. Why should I? I'm always the one to cave in first. No, not this time. This time was I going to stay firm.

And it worked. Until that evening after school, anyway. I hadn't seen Bruce since our fight, but then I saw him sitting in the living room that afternoon. All stubbornness went right out the window. I don't even know what happened. All I remember is going straight up to him and instantly apologizing for my rude behavior earlier that day without giving myself time to feel embarrassed over being the first to crack. Again.

Well, Bruce forgave me. Again. He said that I had been under a lot of pressure lately and that he knew I was bound to lose my temper eventually and that he also knew how I hadn't meant what I had said. Or something to that effect.

But, although I didn't show it, I was mad. I had _too_ meant what I said! I still thought it was ridiculous for a person to spend his whole life brooding over something that wasn't even his fault! But, not wanting to start another argument, I said nothing.

Before I could lose my temper again, I headed into the kitchen to help Alfred with dinner. Sure, there was homework to be done. But it's impossible to do homework when you're furious, while it was so easy to let out your frustrations while chopping onions or the like. I'm not too handy in the kitchen, to be perfectly honest, but Alfred would never kick me out unless I literally set something on fire. Or came dangerously close to chopping off a couple of fingers. Or both.

"Hello there, Master Dick."

"Hi. Mind if I help?"

"Of course not, sir. But please don't set the kitchen on fire like Master Bruce did when he was your age."

"He did?" I snorted, thoroughly amused. It's hard to imagine Bruce in the kitchen. Although once, when I was eleven years old, the blender broke and we ended up with globs of unidentified foods all over the walls. At least, that was Bruce's story. Personally, I think he just didn't know what the heck he was doing and hit the wrong button.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, he did," Alfred confirmed. He handed me a knife and a couple of tomatoes before continuing, "He forgot about a pie in the oven and the next thing we knew, we were calling the fire department—and the insurance company. The fact that he turned the heat up too high certainly did not help matters."

Good ol' Alfred. Whenever I'm feeling miserable, he's always knows exactly how to lift my spirits again.

"By the way," he continued.

"Uh-oh," I said.

"I received a call from Dr. Beauregard this afternoon."

"The optometrist? What did he want?"

"I think you know, Master Dick."

I just looked at him expectantly. Yes, he was right. I did kind of know what Dr. Beauregard wanted: to tell us whether there was any hope for Bruce's eyes or if… you know.

"Well, what did he say?"

"He seemed to be under the impression that all it would take to repair the damage would be an operation."

Dropping the knife, I grabbed Alfred's sleeve and asked him to repeat what he had just said.

"Now don't get you hopes up too high, Master Dick," he cautioned gently. "We still need to find a doctor who will be able to do the operation."

"But it's still a chance, right?" I said, practically begging for something to hope for again.

"Of course. And speaking of doctors that reminds me—you have an appointment next week at two o'clock… now don't look at me like that. It's just a routine check-up."

"Can I go tell Bruce about it? What Dr. Beauregard said, that is."

Alfred nodded his consent. I practically ran from the room. Surely this would make Bruce feel a little better, and if it didn't, he couldn't possibly be human. Although I _could_ name a few people who already thought that.

"Hey, Bruce!" I cried. "You'll never guess what Alfred just told me!"

I didn't even wait for a response, I just plowed right on and told him all about how he was going to see again.

"Maybe," Bruce corrected quietly.

"Must you always be the pessimist?" I grumbled good-naturedly. Unfortunately, as testy as Bruce was those days, he took my remark quite seriously.

"I'm just trying to get the facts straight," he commented somberly, "unlike someone else in this room. I thought that five years of working with the Batman would have taught you not to jump to conclusions."

Feeling a little annoyed and a lot hurt, I responded crisply, "Well, pardon me for trying to be a little cheerful, _unlike someone else in this room. _And if you think I'm such a lousy crime-fighter, why am I defending your precious Gotham City all alone then?"

"I never said you were a lousy crime-fighter; you did. And no matter how good you get—"

"'There's always room for improvement'," I jumped in. "Yes, I know that, you've told me. _About a hundred million times._"

Then came the unkindest cut of all:

"Well, if you'd just remember things, then maybe I wouldn't have to repeat them _'a hundred million times'._"

"Oh, so now it's my fault!" I yelled, letting my hurt feelings show. "Well how about your faults—why aren't we ever discussing them, Mr. Expert? Like how the only thing you care about is fighting crime? Yes, I know—that's not true, right? Then would you care to explain why you—"

Someone cleared his throat quietly from the doorway. I instantly knew it was Alfred trying to be discreet while breaking up a needless argument. I took the hint and stormed from the room as soon as he announced that dinner was ready.

As you can probably guess, I was officially out of my previous good mood. I hate to admit this, but I felt a lot like crying.

I didn't, though.

And so it went for the next few days. Even with the potentially good news of Dr. Beauregard's soon-to-be-returned test results, Bruce and I couldn't seem to stop arguing. At first, we had reasonably good excuses for the constant fighting, but then they just got stupid. I remember once, we actually starting bickering over feta cheese (do NOT ask. You do NOT want to know how that one started).

It always hurts to argue with Bruce. It hurts even worse after the fight ends and we're still not speaking to each other. But I tried not to let it show too much, especially not around Alfred. I just went out on patrol every night (by myself), attended school every weekday, and stayed away from the house on weekends. That last routine was just selfishness on my part, since Alfred really did need me to help Bruce adjust to his… blindness… but really. I just couldn't do it. In fact, I was beginning to think that Bruce hated me. Of course, now I know that that was just nonsense. But back then, it seemed like a very reasonable excuse for the constant squabbling.

I went to that appointment Alfred had made for me. Upon checking me out, the doctor said I was pretty much okay, but there was just one little thing that was troubling her. So she dug out the name of a specialist and set up an appointment for me a week later.

We were both sure that I'd be alright. We both believed that nothing was seriously wrong with me. So, immediately upon writing it down on my calendar, I forgot about it.

Until finally, a week later…

…the phone rang.

* * *

**Dick (sarcastic, melodramatic): (gasp) Oh, no, the _phone rang! _(choke, gasp)**

**Me: (growl) Ecch, this chapter just didn't want to end. But I MADE IT END! Bwahahaha...!**

**Dick: How would you like to spend Christmas at the local insane asylum?**

**Me: Well, thank you so much for that little bit of holiday cheer.**

**Dick (cheerfully) You're welcome!**

**Me: Just do the replies already. I've got pictures to draw and stories to write!**

**(Marches off valiantly as Dick sighs.)**

**_Reviewer Replies_**

**60's-bat-fan--**Okay, well this isn't exactly within the two days, but if you break her arm, then she won't be able to update for at least three weeks. So that probably isn't such a good idea (maybe).

**Lil' Kanny--**Aw, thanks! Although I'm not sure that _I _like how she writes Bruce, the rest is alright... maybe... and I guess we pretty much know now about Bruce's eyes, huh? Let's hope!

**kokomocalifornia--**Whoa, a sequel that's better than the original! There's something you don't see every day! Thanks for the review!

**batfan7--**Yay, a new reviewer! I don't think I've seen you around here before... well, glad you enjoyed the chapter! 8)


	4. Chapter 4

**_The Long and Winding Road_**

**_Chapter Four_**

**DISCLAIMER: No, I don't own them, and I don't think my stocking is big enough to hold them. ;-)**

* * *

This could be it. I almost felt like I was going to be sick. But I answered it anyway, since I happened to be the only one in the house. Except for Bruce, that is, but he'd never answer the phone. Not now. 

"Hello?"

"Hello. Does a Mr. Bruce Wayne live here?"

"Yes. Who's calling?"

"This is Dr. Beauregard."

My throat was suddenly very, very dry.

"Well?" was all I could say. Even to my own ears, my voice sounded funny.

There was laughter on the other end. "Don't be so nervous! Everything is going to be fine."

"…Does that mean what I hope it means?"

"Yes. We've found a doctor who can—and will—perform the operation. He's in Europe, though, but I'm sure money won't be a problem for you…"

"Just tell me where he is so I can tackle him to the ground and thank him a million times over!" I exclaimed, not quite jokingly. That was one of those few moments in my life when I was completely thrilled to pieces, no strings attached. I think the term is 'Cloud Nine'.

More laughter from the good doctor.

"You certainly are an enthusiastic kid, aren't you? Alrighty then, here's everything you need to know…"

I grabbed a notepad and pencil and scribbled everything down. It was just barely legible because my hand was shaking so badly, so I'd have to rewrite it before Alfred came home and gave me a lecture on how important good penmanship was or something.

"Good-bye, Doc. And thanks again!"

I hung up. Then, unable to control myself, I let out a whoop and did a couple of back handsprings across the living room floor. Bruce was going to see again! Just wait till he found out!

So I ran into the study, yelling for Bruce the whole way. I knew he probably wouldn't answer me until I was within three feet of him, but that was just my way of getting rid of the excess energy.

As I entered the study, I tripped over something I hadn't seen—like my own foot, maybe—and found myself lying on the floor.

"Dick, what are you doing, trying to get yourself killed?"

I ignored him and got up off the newly-vacuumed carpet.

"They're gonna do it! They're gonna do it!" I yelled.

"Do what?"

"You _know _what!"

I was so excited I barely knew myself what it was they were going to do. But Bruce knew so much more than I did—he could figure it out.

Sure enough, it wasn't long before I saw understanding in his expression.

Most people who found out they were going to see again probably would have started cheering and laughing and maybe even hugging the closest thing to them, which would have been me since I was practically on top of him.

But not Bruce. No, never Bruce. He was way too… in-control?… to allow himself to do those things. Lucky for us, I'm enthusiastic and emotional enough for twenty people. Or so says Alfred.

"Dr. Beauregard just called," I prattled on happily. "He says that there's a doctor in Austria who specializes in these kinds of operations. Of course, it involves a few weeks of recuperation afterwards, which means we'll be stuck in Europe for about six weeks, but—"

"Hey, slow down a minute, Boy Wonder!" Bruce interrupted. "What do you mean 'we'?"

My smile faltered slightly. Of course, Bruce didn't even notice.

"I'm going with you, naturally."

"Hate to disappoint you, but…"

"Oh. I get it."

Well, I definitely wasn't going to be stuck at home waiting for Bruce to get back. I'd done that before for much less significant matters, and I hated it. Imagine what it would be like waiting for something as important as this! So I decided to take my guardian on a little… guilt-trip. Or at least, I'd try.

Sitting down next to him on the couch, I made myself sound as forlorn as possible when I proclaimed, "You don't _want_ me to go with you."

Bruce sighed. I knew that sigh. Ha, ha, it was working!

"It's not that I don't want to take you, Dick, but—"

"Then why can't I go?" I insisted.

"Do you know what could happen to Gotham if both of us were gone for six weeks?"

"Well, during the summer, you have that alarm system in your room at the house in Florida to let us know if something's wrong, and for those months it didn't even go off once! See? It's not that bad around here."

"And how do you suggest we get an alarm system into the hotel room?"

I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out, so I closed it again. He had a point… but this war wasn't over yet! This guilt-trip wasn't even close to being done!

"So you're going alone then," I grumped.

"No. Alfred is going with me."

I did a double-take.

"You mean I'm going to be here all alone? I doubt if the guys at Children's Welfare are going to like that! Which is yet another good reason why I should be going with you!"

"For your information, Alfred is just going to be staying with me until the operation ends to make sure everything goes alright. Then he'll be back. Which means that you'll be at school the entire time we're both away."

I gave him a really nasty look, despite the fact that he couldn't see me doing it. That was probably a good thing, actually.

"You planned all of this, didn't you?"

"Always be prepared, Dick."

"Without telling me."

No answer.

"What is this, a _conspiracy?_"

Judging by the slightly exasperated expression on Bruce's face, I figured I had probably pushed it a little too far. But I was too annoyed to really be worried about it. Once again, Bruce had started planning my life without warning me about it first.

When Bruce didn't answer me for the second time in a row, I got up and marched out of the room, still feeling highly offended. How come I never knew what was going on until it had already happened? Argh!

I moped around in my room for a while. Then, when the clock struck four, I suddenly remembered that doctor's appointment I had been advised to make. So I asked Alfred to drive me into the city, wait for about an hour, and then take me home. He did it, even though he was rather miffed when I refused tell him where I was going. But I couldn't tell him. I _wouldn't_ tell him until I was sure…

* * *

**Me: Can anybody guess where this is going? Bwahaha...**

**Dick: Hey, c'mon! It's the holiday season--be nice to me, would you?**

**Me: Not yet, pal. I'll be nice to you later. MUCH later.**

**Dick (grumpy): Figures.**

**Me: Aw, just do the replies. Please?**

**Dick: (sigh) The things I put up with...**

**_Reviewer Replies_**

**Firi-**It's okay. I think I'm getting used to it now. (little sigh) Anyway, thanks for reviewing, and I like father/son stories, too! But I think you could have guessed that...

**60's-bat-fan-**Okay, we admit it: this isn't exactly really soon. But yeah, Bruce can be a little... intolerable... sometimes. But most of the time, he isn't too bad. ;-)

**kokomocalifornia-**I don't think I've seen such an enthusiastic fan before, at least not for TAP's stuff. Perfect? Wow! Thank you!

**Naeko-**Don't worry. She has no intention of killing anybody in this story, especially not me. I hope. (ah-hem) Anyway, she says thank you and hopes that you enjoy this chapter just as much!


	5. Chapter 5

**_The Long and Winding Road_**

**_Chapter Five_**

**DISCLAIMER: If I didn't own them in the last chapter, which was posted thirty second ago, how do you expect me to own them now?**

* * *

"…I'm terribly sorry, Dick. I wish I could have given you better news." 

Sorry, she said. 'Sorry' didn't make me any better, and didn't prevent the worry and anguish I knew wouldn't be too far off.

I sat there numbly for a moment, trying to come to terms with what I had just learned. Then I asked quietly, "How much longer?"

"I'd give you… six weeks. Seven at most."

"And there's nothing you can do."

"Believe me, Dick. If there was, I would have done it already." She placed a consoling hand on my shoulder and asked gently, "Do you want me to tell them for you?"

_Heck NO!_

"No thanks. I can do it myself."

When I was good and ready, that is. Which wouldn't be for as long as I could possibly procrastinate the unhappy task of telling everybody the bad news.

Walking over to her desk, the doctor wrote down a few phone numbers on a Post-It Note and handed it to me.

"These are the numbers of those people I told you about—they'll help you prepare for…" She sighed and said sympathetically, "I wish there was something I could do. But it seems as if all I can do is offer you my condolences. Please, feel free to call me if you need anything."

A pause as she gave my shoulder a squeeze.

"I know how hard this going to be on you, Dick."

_No, you don't. Nobody does. You have no idea that Bruce is about to head to Europe to finally get better while I'm…_

"Yeah."

I shrugged into my jacket and headed out the door into the cool mid-November air.

To think, that just a few short hours ago, I was the happiest person on Earth. Now, I was still very happy for Bruce, but was also quite caught up in feeling sorry for myself. Call me selfish, but you'd be feeling pretty low if you just found out your whole life was about to be turned upside-down for the fourth time in five months—first when Tracie came, then when she left, then Bruce's blindness and now this. I was beginning to feel like I was cursed or something.

It's amazing how quickly your life can change, isn't it? You're just minding your own business, then all of a sudden, bam! Everything's messed up forever. You'd think I was used to that feeling because it had happened so often, but that is the kind of thing that you just can't get accustomed to and—

—And Alfred would definitely suspect something if he caught me hanging around a doctor's office.

I made my way towards the opposite side of the city to wait for him to pick me up at the designated spot. I couldn't wait to get home and just curl up under the covers, to hide from the world and all of its cruelties. Maybe even stay there forever.

Everything was supposed to be perfect. Bruce was supposed to be back in time for Christmas. Sure, he might brood a bit more than usual since Christmas was around the time when he and Tracie were supposed to wed. But we were all going to be together again. Whatever happened to living happily ever after, like in those stories that your parents read to you when you're a kid? The bad guys get their just deserts, the boy gets the girl, and everybody lives happily ever after. The end.

I continued to walk against the wind, not minding the cold that nipped at my nose and ears. They'd probably be bright red by the time I got to the rendezvous point, but I didn't care. Everyone's lives were about to be messed up for good, and it was my fault once again. There would be no miracles waiting around the corner to save us this time.

This was the end of life as it had been, the way we liked it. Nobody even knew it except me, but this chapter of our lives was about to end tragically.

_And it was my fault._

I didn't know exactly how it was my fault, but I was sure it was. Wasn't I the one who was sick? I must have done _something…_

There was Alfred. I got into the car and buckled my seatbelt. Then he commented that I should have worn a hat to prevent the redness of my ears. Funny how some things never change, no matter how bad life gets.

Like I had promised myself on the walk home, I headed straight up to my room, turned off the light and just hid under my covers. I made sure the door was locked, too. No sense in letting Alfred see I was miserable. He'd worry, then I'd worry, and the last thing I needed was more worry on top of worry.

There was a knock on the door. Alfred told me to come down for dinner, and I rather grouchily responded that I wasn't hungry.

"Nevertheless, Master Dick, you must keep your strength up. Or would you rather have Master Bruce recover his sight and see you looking the way you did this past August?"

I brought to mind that day back at the beach house when I had taken off my shirt while finishing up the packing process. Then, when I looked in the mirror… well, I'd rather forget it, actually.

"I'm coming."

I could tell that Alfred was pleased just by the way his footsteps echoed in the hallway. At least someone was happy.

So, despite my lack of appetite, I came downstairs and wandered into the kitchen. I preferred eating in there—the dining room was extremely large, and it made me feel extremely small. Which wasn't necessary since I was already small. I didn't need any encouragement.

I must have looked depressed because the next thing I knew, Alfred was asking me why I was so miserable.

"It's nothing," was the only answer I could give him.

From then on, I knew that I'd have to be very careful how I acted around him. He was expecting me to be overjoyed because Bruce was going to see again by the holiday season. And I _was_ overjoyed—for him. But it was going to be awfully hard to let my gladness show through the depression that was slowly consuming my thoughts.

Luckily, the press didn't know about this latest development. If they ever got hold of the fact that Bruce's sight was going to be recovered, I'd have to be cheerful in front of everyone. I didn't think I was capable of that.

* * *

**Me: And that's it until after Christmas, people! Happy Holidays, everybody!**

**Dick: Hey, TAP.**

**Me: What.**

**Dick (sing-songy voice): I know something you don't know! I know something you don't know!**

**Me: That's okay. I can wait until tomorrow... ****TELL ME TELL ME TELL ME!**

**Dick: Oh, no, I won't!**

**Me: Oh yes you will!**

**(They chase each other around the room for a very long time... Happy Holidays!)**


	6. Chapter 6

**_The Long and Winding Road_**

**_Chapter Six_**

**DISCLAIMER: No, I don't own them. But my New Years' resolution this year is to get DC Comics to sell them to me real cheap! ;-)**

* * *

Glaring at the morning paper, I slammed it down on to the coffee table and began pacing the room. 

"But how did they find out?" I cried, furious.

"I wish I knew, Dick," Bruce answered quietly.

"Well if I ever get my hands on the low-life snitch who leaked this to the presses, I'll…"

I brought my hands together as if strangling somebody, then let them hang limply at my sides.

"Hey, what about you? You don't seem upset about this at all. If I were you, I'd be absolutely livid!"

"I think you already are."

Well, okay, that was true. I hadn't been this angry in years. But I had a good reason to be mad—while Bruce was off in Europe and Alfred was usually at home, guess who would have to put up with those idiot reporters? ME! I hate reporters (except Clark, that is). Especially the nosy kind. And every reporter in Gotham City seemed to be the _very_ nosy kind. Take it from a person who knows.

The next day was Sunday, so I spent the day helping Bruce pack his things for tomorrow. Of course, he was stubborn about it at first and refused my help. However, after twenty minutes of arguing, I threatened to stow away on the plane if he didn't let me help him. Needless to say, he let me stay after that. But that didn't mean he was thrilled about it. Come to think of it, he's never thrilled about anything.

The day after that at around seven in the morning, we had already said our good-byes and I was watching the Wayne private jet take off. Now that I was all alone, I couldn't resist a little sigh. Back at the circus, I was always—repeat, ALWAYS—traveling with my family. But that day, the closestpeople I had to family were leaving the country without me. Talk about feeling left out!

Turning slowly, I began the walk to school. I think Alfred was expecting me to call a cab to go home and actually eat some breakfast first, but I wasn't very hungry anyway. Besides, school didn't start for another hour or so—I had time… to do something that had to be done…

Even at that early hour of the morning, the streets were full of cars and people trying to get to work on time. It seemed funny to me that, even though my own little universe was about to collapse, everyone else's lives were completely unaffected. In fact, if they knew about what was happening, most of them wouldn't even care.

A strong breeze started up. I zipped my jacket up a little higher to ward off the cold. Unfortunately, the jacket didn't do anything to ward off the reporters. I really wished it did.

Within about twenty seconds, I was surrounded by them. A veritable _swarm _of reporters were sticking microphones in my face and asking the most obnoxious questions I'd ever heard!

I didn't need this. I had to get out of there.

From past experience, I knew that simply telling them to shut up wouldn't help. So I ducked down and snuck out of the group through somebody's legs (what can I say? Being short can have its advantages!)

It must have been my lucky morning—a cab was sitting at the corner, as if waiting for me.

I got in and slammed the door shut, startling the cabbie. After checking my pocket to make sure I had enough money to get where I was going, I told him the address.

"Now what would you want to be doing there?" he asked.

"You can read about it in the papers in about six weeks—now would you mind stepping on it before the reporters notice that the subject of their interview has disappeared?"

Without another word, the man did his job and began to drive. I breathed a sigh of relief: the reporters couldn't seem to figure out where I had gone. They didn't even _suspect_ the taxi.

As soon as we were a good distance off, the cabbie asked, "Reporters? What are you, some kind of celebrity? Hey…" he continued without even waiting for me to say something. "You're Wayne's kid, aren't you?"

_Oh, great…_

"Yes, and at the moment, I'm not sure whether it would be more advantageous to be someone a little less noticeable!" I replied.

The cabbie proceeded to talk as if he hadn't even heard me. "Ya know, I've read a lot about you. Every day, my wife and I buy the paper just to read about what's happened most recently in your 'glamorous lives'! But apparently, bein' rich ain't as glamorous as we thought!"

"Trust me, it's not. I hate to disillusion you, but most of that stuff in the paper is just junk."

"So Mr. Wayne isn't going to get his sight back, or did he not lose it in the first place?"

I don't know why, but I suddenly had the urge to punch the cabbie in the nose. It wasn't like he had really done anything offensive; he was just asking an innocent question, like anybody would. But as soon as he said the words… I don't know what happened. I was angry all of a sudden, and hurt, and confused. Lucky for him (and for me, should Alfred ever find out), I managed to restrain myself and just answer the question:

"Well those parts are true."

"Yeah, we were real sorry to hear about what happened this past summer," he added. _Now_ I had a reason to be angry—bringing THAT up and all—but I didn't say anything and just let the cabbie prattle on at his leisure.

"Wait, here's the place!" I finally cried out, not sure whether he'd notice through his incessant yapping.

"How much do I owe you?" I asked as I stepped out of the cab.

The cabbie shook his head and smiled slightly. "Never mind, kid. You've got enough problems."

I blinked, nonplussed.

"But really, I—"

"Hey, when I decide to do something nice, don't stop me!"

"Okay then… thanks, Mister!"

I waved to him as he drove off. Maybe not everybody in Gotham was as nasty as I had assumed. Maybe I'd been taking the personalities of the city's numerous super-villains and applying them to everybody. I made a mental note not to judge people like that anymore, and then headed inside.

Right inside was a fair-skinned, brown-haired woman who was completely dressed in pink. It seemed as if she was waiting for me.

"You must be Dick. Hi, I'm Margie."

"Hi." We shook hands. "And I'd like to thank you again for keeping this a secret. I really appreciate it."

"Oh, it's no problem," she said, blushing as pink as her clothes. "But are you sure you won't change your mind about this? It may seem easy to do at first, but as the disease progresses, we prefer to have a friend or a family member with the student. For support, you know."

"Well, thanks for being concerned, but under the circumstances, I really think it would be better for me to do this on my own."

Margie sighed. "Alright, Dick. But if you ever change your mind…"

She led me into another room filled with desks. Several other people were there too.

Margie sat me down at one of the many empty desks and pulled out a packet of flashcards. Luckily, they weren't pink.

"Okay, let's just start with the simple stuff. We've got a lot to cover in our first lesson, and you've only got forty-five minutes before you need to be in school!"

* * *

**Me: I love being mysterious.**

**Dick: Me too, but not when it's my LIFE on the LINE here!**

**Me: Oh, shush. I'm getting reviews for it, aren't I? About four per chapter. That's a good steady amount, and for me, that's actually very good! Keep it coming, folks!**

**Dick: Speaking of reviews...**

**(Dick steps on the author's foot)**

**Me: OUCH! What was that for?**

**Dick: One of the reviewers asked me to do that since you were so late updating.**

**Me: Do the replies. Or else.**

**Dick: (makes face)**

**_Reviewer Replies_**

**60's-bat-fan-**I stepped on her foot for you! Anybody who reviews twice in a row deserves to get their wishes granted. ;-) Anyway, thanks for the good luck wishes! I think I'll need them...

**perfectdisaster-**Well, here's a little more suspense, which isn't so wonderful when it's me she's writing about! Thanks for the show of support--TAP needs as much as she can get!

**kokomocalifornia-**Another loyal reviewer! That's always nice to see. And now that it IS after Christmas, you have my permission to strangle the author if she does something you don't like. 8)


	7. Chapter 7

**_The Long and Winding Road_**

**_Chapter Seven_**

**DISCLAIMER: I own Margie, and that is it. I doubt you'll want her, but if you do, just take her. But be sure to let me know that you're going to use her in your story. If Dick is still Robin, the odds are I'll read it! There's not enough of that stuff floating around here these days... sigh... ANYWAY. Onto the story.**

* * *

Although my first lesson hadn't gone as well as we had planned, both Margie and I entertained hopes that I would live up to my reputation as a fast learner and catch on soon. If I didn't… well, I'd just HAVE to, that's all. It wasn't like I had a heck of a lot of time on my hands. 

So learn I did. It wasn't easy, let me tell you. I mean, it would have been difficult under any circumstances, but knowing that I only had a few weeks to learn everything without being able to tell anyone about it… what can I say? It was absolute murder on my nerves. I realized I was getting more nervous and snippy as the days went past. I couldn't let that continue. Something had to be done before somebody really got suspicious.

I had to tell someone.

Alfred.

He'd know what to do—he _always_ knows what to do.

It was exactly two weeks since Bruce left for Austria by the time I finally worked up the guts to go into the kitchen and tell Alfred my secret. I missed the door and walked straight into the wall when I first tried it. Boy did that ever hurt.

_Clumsier all the time, _I thought irritably. Deep down, though, I knew it wasn't that. Well, maybe some of it was. But a lot of it was that disease I had—it was awfully distracting at times, took up nearly all of my thoughts.

I managed to get back on track and sit down at the kitchen table without Alfred noticing my mishap, thank goodness.

"What brings you in here on a day like this?" Alfred asked me in a mildly surprised tone. "I should think that you'd be outside."

True. Normally on the first snow day of the year, I liked to grab my coat and just wander around outside for a while. Sometimes I'd invite a friend over (or he'd invite me over) and we'd have a snowball fight or something. But not this time. I just wasn't in the mood.

"Actually, I was kind of wondering if I could talk to you for a minute."

"From the look on your face, I daresay it's something rather serious."

"_I_ think so."

Alfred turned off the water at the sink where he had been washing dishes and came over to sit with me at the table.

How was I supposed to put this, anyway? I couldn't just blurt it out the way I had imagined. It had seemed so easy to do when I bumped into the wall a minute ago. Now, the words just wouldn't come out.

"I… I... was just…"

Taking a deep breath, I tried something completely different:

"I was just hoping you weren't still upset with me for not telling you where I was going that day…"

Pathetic little lie, yes. I've never been much of a liar, which is sometimes more curse than blessing. Like that day in the kitchen with Alfred.

"Master Dick, that was over two weeks ago!" Alfred said with slight laugh. "Of course I'm not still upset with you about that."

"Well, it's just been bugging me for a while." It sure had, but not in the way he thought! "I wanted to make sure."

I noticed that Alfred was looking at me thoughtfully as I stood up from the table, but I pretended not to notice and just headed for the door. I knew that he knew something was up. I could only hope that he wouldn't stop me and give me the third degree on this matter.

"There's something else bothering you, isn't there?"

Yeah, that figures. Alfred knows everything. He really should have been a fortune teller at the carnival instead of a butler. I mean it. He could have made his own millions by now if he had.

"Well… yes…" I finally admitted. "Do you trust me?"

"You know I do, Master Dick."

"Then please don't ask any more about this," I begged. "I'll tell you soon—promise—but for now, just_ please_ don't ask any questions."

Just for the record, the only reason I promised that was because I knew I wouldn't have a choice a few weeks from now.

Alfred sighed, but agreed. I could tell he wasn't happy about this, but it wouldn't be much longer before he and everyone else knew everything.

It had been a mistake to even tryto tell anybody about what the doctor had said. Now that Alfred knew something was wrong, he'd probably be watching me extra-closely from then on. I'd have to be careful.

That was when the lies started.

Like I said, I'm not very good at lying, especially not to Bruce and Alfred. But it's amazing what you can do in desperate situations.

Every time I had to go see Margie, I'd say that I had been invited to a friend's house or that one of the teachers had asked me to do something for him or her after school. Or something like that. Soon, these kinds of excuses got so redundant and so over-used that I was sure Alfred knew there was more to them than I was telling.

But, if he did suspect that I was being less than truthful, he never said or did anything about it. I was definitely grateful for that, even though I really wished that someone knew about my troubles except the doctor, Margie, and me.

About three weeks after my first appointment, I decided to make another trip to that doctor. Now don't get me wrong: I absolutely detest doctors. Who knows what prompted me to see her again? All I knew was that I had to talk to someone who knew my problem at least once more before it was all over for good.

Well, as things would turn out, I didn't quite make it to her office. Just as I was about to ask Alfred to give me a ride, the faithful 'butler' handed me the phone, saying it was for me. There was a kind of amused look in his eyes, and I was a bit suspicious about who was on the line. However, anybody who questions Alfred is automatically toast. So I took the phone.

"Hello?" I said tentatively.

"Hi. Remember me?"

"Bruce!" I cried, my apprehension completely gone. "It's about time you called! I've been worried sick, and Alfred wouldn't tell me anything. How've you been? Those Austrian doctors treating you okay?"

"Dick, I'm _fine,_" was the (almost!) amused reply.

"Really fine?" I asked, feeling a little sick.

"Yes, I can see, Dick."

Completely forgetting my own problems, I just began grinning uncontrollably. I had known that Bruce would be able to see, but just hearing the news made me feel so much better.

"When will you be coming home?" was my next question.

"I don't know just yet, but it'll be soon. Very soon."

If it was possible to smile any wider, I managed it.

"You don't know how happy I am to hear that, Bruce. Really," I admitted. I didn't bring up the fights we had had, not wanting to remind Bruce of the misery of the past few weeks. But I kind of hoped that he'd know what I meant.

I didn't have time to find out whether he understood me or not. There were several odd noises in the background from Bruce's end of the line. Then he told me that he had to leave, but promised to call again as soon as he could. I was disappointed, but I didn't say so as I hung up.

Despite his promise, I never received another call from Bruce during the remainder of his stay in Austria. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt—after all, he was probably still busy with operations and treatments and such. He had never broken a promise to me before, and I knew that he would only do so if there was a really, really, REALLY good reason for it.

Still, what with all that had happened recently, I couldn't help but feel betrayed.

Then, about a week ago, Alfred told me how he had gotten a call from that Doctor Whateverhisnameis in Austria. Something about how Bruce was coming home in a few days.

"But nothing from Bruce?" I almost begged.

Alfred must have sensed my disappointment, because he simply placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently.

"It's alright, I guess," I assured him, shrugging his hand off. Then, trying to sound cheerful, I added, "I mean, 'no news is good news', right?"

I don't think he believed me. I couldn't blame him.

* * *

**Me: Just so nobody asks, I often put quotations marks around the term 'butler' when referring to Alfred because I don't think he's really their butler. Oh, sure, maybe TECHNICALLY he is, but since Alfred always seems to know everything and has complete control over the household, he shouldn't really be called the butler all the time.**

**Dick: 'Bout time you showed a little intelligence.**

**Me: Hey, I've got a pretty good vocabulary, haven't I?**

**Dick: That dictionary over there may just have something to do with that.**

**Me: I do NOT have a dictionary over here!**

**Dick: Oh, yeah? Then what's th--**

**Me: Just do the replies, buddy, just do the replies.**

**_Reviewer Replies_**

**perfectdisaster-**I doubt this will do much to get rid of those nasty swirling thoughts, but the end is about two chapters away. Maybe that will help ('maybe' being the key word there...)

**Onthnis-**That's okay, TAP is really (REALLY) forgetful. But she's really glad to know that you're enjoying the story as much as you are.

**kokomocalifornia-**And it's after Three Kings Day now, too (that's January 6). So now she has absolutely no excuse for late updating, right? LOL.

**60's-bat-fan-**Batsleep... excellent idea... I just may try it out... thanks for reviewing!


	8. Chapter 8

**_The Long and Winding Road_**

**_Chapter Eight_**

**DISCLAIMER: After all this time, my evil mind has not yet thought of a way to capture Batman and friends from the clutches of DC Comics executives. And until that fateful day when I do... everything in this fic is theirs. GREEDY! LOL... just kidding... XD**

* * *

The days passed quickly. I never thought that time could go by in such a blur, especially not when so many days were long boring school days. 

The worst part was how everyone kept _congratulating_ me. Remember how I said that the newspapers had gotten hold of information on Bruce's operation? Because of that, I was constantly being forced to act all smiley and happy. Normally, that would be absolutely no problem. But now, it was such a struggle that everyone noticed. I couldn't concentrate, I couldn't complete my homework assignments… heck, I couldn't even see straight anymore. My teachers all noticed, and I got sent to the principal's office more than once for daydreaming. I didn't _mean _to be bad, but it was just so… I don't know. Frustrating is the best word I can find to describe what it was like.

Even my friends noticed. In fact, they asked about it a lot, but I told them nothing (now don't go thinking I've got this huge circle of friends here—like I said, I'm the resident nerd). But by keeping my mouth shut, I lost a couple of friends. I hated myself all the more for it. Since when had my life become nothing but lies and secrets and more lies?

At least there was Christmas vacation to look forward to. And, better yet, Bruce was coming home! It was that one thought that kept me going during the remaining time.

But when I awoke yesterday morning, the oddest sensation washed over me. I couldn't explain it, and I still can't, but something was telling me that this was to be the last normal day of my life.

Because it was a Saturday, I spent that last day in the gym (yes, we have our own gym). Bruce had had special gymnastics equipment installed for me as soon as I came to stay, and that was exactly the stuff I used. Just in case I wouldn't be able to do my gymnastics anymore after… well… you know.

_How would my parents react if they knew?_ I wondered absently. It was a legitimate question—after all, this disease had more to do with genetics than with atmosphere, which meant that I would've gotten sick even if they were still alive. What would their reaction be if they had lived?

After a few minutes of pondering this issue, I decided that _Bruce's_ reaction was more than enough to handle for one lifetime and promptly forgot the matter entirely.

After a day in the gym, I took a quick shower and headed downstairs for dinner, still pink-faced from the hot water. Alfred just shook his head with a funny expression on his face as he looked at me. Had he found out about my secret? Oh, gosh, that had to be it! He _knew!_

"What?" I asked him, trying not to sound as terrified as I was.

"Forgive me, Master Dick," he answered. Then, with a little sigh, he added, "It's just that… you're growing up so quickly now. It seems like just yesterday when you walked through that door for the very first time…"

"Oh, is that all?" I breathed. "I thought I was in trouble!"

"_Should_ you be in trouble?" Alfred asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Of course not! I haven't done anything bad!"

_I think…_

As he put the plate down in front of me, he added, "I'm sure you haven't, young sir. You are certainly going to be a fine young man whom Master Bruce will be very proud of."

I blinked, startled, and then realized that I had just lost my appetite. Why did he have to do it? After weeks and weeks of lying, he has to go pick that _exact moment _to say how great I was. Just what I needed. Not that I wasn't grateful for the compliment, but really!

I lay awake for hours that last night, just gazing thoughtfully up at the ceiling. I didn't want to fall asleep. I was too scared. There was no need to be; I had known this moment would be coming for the past six weeks, and I was ready for it. But, no matter how hard I tried to quell my fears, all of those energetic butterflies kept fluttering around my stomach, effectively keeping me awake.

Suddenly, I sat up in bed, startled. Everything I had planned to say to Alfred the next day had just flown from my mind—my entire explanation was forgotten. Honestly, I couldn't remember a single word. NOW what was I going to say?

_Listen! Just calm down, don't freak, _my mind screamed. _Just relax. Panicking isn't going to help any… calm down… you'll remember…_

Good news and bad news—the good news was that I finally managed to compose myself. The bad news was that, in doing so, the butterflies all went away, and I was quickly falling asleep.

I didn't want to go to sleep. I mean I really, _really_ didn't want to go to sleep. I was too scared of what I'd see—or rather, what I _wouldn't _see—the next morning…

I don't remember dropping off. I _do_ remember waking up and thinking how I should have just stayed asleep. It wouldn't have made much of a difference. At least everything would have still been alright. But now that my eyes were open, I'd have to face reality whether I liked it or not.

And, worst of all, I could hear lots of activity from downstairs.

Lots of activity…

It must be all of our friends, waiting to welcome Bruce home on this happiest of occasions. That meant Clark and Diana and Barry and Wally and—

—and Bruce was coming home later that morning!

Suddenly, I felt desperately ill.

Explaining this to Alfred would be bad enough, but in front of everybody? Well, at least I'd only have to tell the story once.

Ever so slowly, I eventually got out of bed and made my way over to the bathroom to dress. I had actually shown a stroke of genius the night before by laying out all of my clothes beforehand so that I wouldn't have to worry about it when…

Well, anyway, I got dressed. Slower than usual, but it ended with the same results. I hoped.

There was a gentle knock on my bedroom door. I felt my back stiffen as I asked who it was.

I heard the door open, and then Wally's voice calling out, "Just me, Dick! Came to see if you were awake and find out why you were being such a sleepyhead this morning."

"…Just tired, is all," I called back after a bit. "I didn't get to sleep for a while."

"I'll buy that," Wally responded. "You must be pretty excited about Bruce coming today, right?"

"Sure."

Pause.

"Well, you don't SOUND excited…"

"Haven't woken up quite yet. Look, I'll be down in a minute, 'kay?"

That was my way of trying to say 'get out' politely. Luckily, Wally took the hint (for once) and said he'd wait for me in the kitchen with everyone else. I could tell by the tone of his voice that he suspected something was wrong, but he said nothing. Now _there's_ a shocker (sorry!).

As soon as I heard the bedroom door shut, I promptly leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling weak with relief. Not that I don't like Wally, but he tends to talk a lot (so do I, if you want to be honest), and he was liable to blab everything I told him without knowing the entire story. Besides, I'd rather break the bad news myself.

I stalled upstairs for another few minutes, just fiddling with anything I came into contact with. I didn't want to go downstairs—it was worse than not wanting to go to sleep the night before. Actually I think I'd RATHER go back to sleep.

But I couldn't. I had already promised Wally that I'd be in the kitchen soon, and if I didn't show, he'd come back up to look for me. So I slowly, carefully made my way to the door and down the stairs. The noises got closer—they were definitely coming from the kitchen.

_Now or never…_

Actually, I'd prefer 'never', but I knew I'd chicken out if I didn't move quickly. And so, taking a deep breath, I stepped into view of the others.

"Good morning," I said.

Silence fell instantly. I could just imagine their startled expressions. I would have loved shocking the heck out of everybody under any other circumstances, but now, I just wished they'd _say_ something.

"Dick, what…?"

"I guess you'll kind of want an explanation now, huh?" I said with a sarcastic little grin. I made my way over to the table, found an empty chair, sat down, and started talking.

"Why didn't you just _tell_ us?" Diana wanted to know once I finished.

"What, and ruin your fun? No chance." Then, before anyone else could argue the point, I added, "Well. I'll be in my room if you want me."

Several pairs of hands reached out to help, but I just nudged them away gently and headed upstairs on my own.

Well, that part was over. Now, all I had to do was wait for Bruce to come home…

* * *

**Me: I think you might be able to guess what's wrong with Dick now. If not, the floor is still open to suggestions, hypotheses, and guesses of all sorts.**

**Dick (really mad): Well _I _don't need to guess--I KNOW!**

**Me: Of course you know. You're the Boy Wonder. Anyway, I'm sorry if this chapter seemed a little fast-paced or clumsy; I had tons of trouble with it. I was completely out of ideas, so I just kind of typed whatever came into my head, hoping to end this story as soon as possible. And yes, I promise that the next chapter is the end of this seemingly-endless story!**

**Dick (still really mad): GOOD!**

**_Reviewer Replies_**

**kokomocalifornia-**Three Kings Day is a Mexican holiday. It is supposed to be when the Wise Men came to see Jesus Christ. You're supposed to leave your shoes out in the hallway for the three Kings to leave presents in (sort of like the stocking routine here in America). Mexican children get their gifts on this day instead of on December 25th. Hope that helps!

**Perfectdisaster-**Well, we're almost at the end! Everything will be revealed next weekend. Glad you're liking the story! 8)

**60's-bat-fan-**Hopefully, this chapter sheds a little more light on things. And next week, I promise that the update will be on TIME. I'll make sure of that...

**batfan81-**Here's the next chapter for your reading pleasure! ;-) Thanks for reviewing!

**Little Red Ravenhood-**Oooh, 'amazing'. There's a word we haven't heard in a while. Well... I guess I'll sort of be okay... I mean I'm not dead yet, but still... thanks for the review!


	9. Chapter 9

**_The Long and Winding Road_**

**_Chapter Nine_**

**DISCLAIMER: Last chapter. Still don't own them. Aaaaalllllll DC Comics property.**

**A couple of quick notes before we start the story here... this is the LAST CHAPTER! YAHOO, FINALLY! I'm hoping it's sufficiently satisfying for all of you wonderful fans. And thanks to not just the people who reviewed, but to all of those other silent readers who enjoyed this fic as well.**

**Also, I am so sorry if some of the characterizations seem a little inaccurate or mushy or even completely out-of-character. But this chapter had to be an emotional one (you'll see why), and it IS a little alternate-universeish, when you think about it... thank you!**

* * *

"So that's how it happened," I finish up. 

There's no reply from Wally. I think he's still in shock from all that I've just told him. And I can't really say that I blame him, even if it_ is _quite unusual for Wally West to be speechless.

Sensing that Wally isn't going to say anything, I continue, "So what happened downstairs with Bruce? I couldn't really hear anything from here."

Wally is still silent. I wish I could figure out what he's thinking.

"It must've been pretty bad," I murmur, not liking my friend's severe lack of chatter.

"Well, he was far from happy, I know that much. But then again, it was hard to tell because he's never really happy about anything, not even Christmas, _especially_ when we pulled those pranks on him three years ago…"

Finally, I get a word from the guy.

"I'd kind of like details, here," I prompt. Although I try to keep the irritation out of my tone, I know I've failed miserably. I've been hiding my true feelings long enough and realize it's impossible to do it any longer.

"Actually, nothing much happened," Wally answers, perfectly serious for once. "He came in, we all said 'hi', and then we had to explain everything to him before he came upstairs and saw… Well, when we were done, he just kinda looked up the stairs for a minute. Like he was staring at something we couldn't see. Then he just… left."

"That was it?"

"Yeah…"

Someone opens the door to my room. I don't know Wally's reaction, but I can feel my whole body tense with uneasiness. There is something very familiar about our visitor—just the way he entered the room is enough of a clue to tell me who it is.

Bruce.

"Um… hello?" I hear Wally say.

Yup, it's definitely Bruce. He is just about the only person on the face of the earth who can scare Wally. Except for maybe Barry after he knows Wally's done something bad.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to be alone with _my ward_ for a moment."

Wally pushes his chair back from the desk, gets up, and shuts the door almost silently behind him. Now I'm completely alone with angry Bruce. Not a promising position to be in, especially when you're the one who's made him angry. Believe me, I know.

I slowly get off the desk that I've been sitting on for the past few hours, telling Wally my story. Crossing my arms over my chest, I say, "Wally tells me that they informed you downstairs of everything you need to know."

"Yes," Bruce answers in his usually-reserved-for-Batman tone. "But I would have preferred hearing it from you. _About six weeks ago_."

"How could I?" I retort, becoming irate. "Everybody was so excited for you and how you were going to get your sight back… so was I. But they all thought everything was going to be perfect, like before—Batman and Robin, back in action and all that. I couldn't tell them!"

"So you went through the toughest time of your life alone just to delay telling everyone the news that you'd eventually have to break anyway."

Boy do I hate it when Bruce phrases things like that. It makes me sound like an idiot. But isn't that just what I had been doing?

"I handled it, didn't I?" I say darkly.

"Yes, you handled it alright." From the tone of his voice, I can tell he's slowly getting more and more furious. "But I'm sure everyone would have appreciated it if you had let them help you instead of just surprising them with it all of a sudden. It wouldn't have been easy no matter what you did, but at least you could have had someone to help you out a little!"

Pause. I refuse to get involved in yet another argument. Besides, I have nothing to say. What's done is done—I wouldn't go back and change it, even if I could.

"How?" Bruce asks in a calmer voice. Well, that's good…

"How what?"

"How did you manage to hide it for so long? It couldn't have been an easy thing to do, especially when Alfred was around."

At least he can appreciate _that_.

"It wasn't," I confirm. "So many times, I just wanted to throw the towel in. So many times, I was ready to just forget it, to give up. So many times…"

Another pause.

"So why didn't you?"

"I tried! I must have tried a million times! But when I'd see them so excited about you regaining your sight, I… well, I just couldn't tell them that I was losing mine. Call me whatever you want to, Bruce, but I couldn't do it."

Yet another pause. Usually, Bruce answers so quickly (and so bluntly). So why is he taking so long now? It's not like this is any different—well, maybe it is a _little_ different. This time, I can't see the look in his eyes, and therefore can't tell what he's thinking.

I hear footsteps getting closer, and then the quiet rustling of papers.

"Dick, I want you to promise that you will do whatever I ask you to, no matter how crazy it sounds. Alright?"

I don't really like the sound of that. But hey, what the heck? I doubt Bruce is going to ask me to stab myself or anything. I trust him enough to promise.

"What do you want me to do?" I ask.

"Promise first."

"Okay, I promise," I agree with a slight shrug. "Now what is it?"

A strong yet gentle hand takes me by the wrist and places several papers in it. Without thinking, I instinctively grab the papers to keep them from falling to the floor.

"What do I do now?"

"Tell me everything you can about these papers."

"I hardly think this is the time for an investigation, Bruce," I say, exasperated. Can't he get his mind off crime-fighting for a second?

Of course not. That's what makes him Bruce.

"You promised," he answers.

Still miffed, I proceed to do as he says. The past six years of training as Robin certainly helps.

I feel the papers carefully to see what I can figure out.

"Well…" I begin slowly. "This is thicker than ordinary paper—it almost feels like the kind big businesses use, or the government."

"Good. Go on."

I feel like I'm down in the Batcave, analyzing a clue for our latest case. Oftentimes, Bruce would figure something out and then have me re-figure it to give me experience. Too bad we won't be doing _that _ever again… or are we?

"I think there's some sort of seal at the bottom right-hand corner on the last page here," I continue. "Like the kind they put on contracts and stuff. Is this some sort of legal document, Bruce?"

"Yes. Very good."

Once again, my emotions refuse to stay hidden, and I can't resist a little smile at the praise. Then I ask exactly what they are.

More papers rustling. I feel the papers being removed from my grasp, despite my attempts to keep hold of them and find out what they are and why Bruce is making me go through this process outside the Batcave.

The papers are replaced. Wait… these aren't the same documents… these are in Braille!

"Go ahead," Bruce urges. "Read them."

First I reach out a hand. I need to find the desk again—it'll be a lot easier to read if I can put the papers on a solid surface.

Ha, got it. I place the papers down and begin to run my fingers over the many rows of Braille. To the average person, it would just look like a bunch of confusing bumps. That's what it seemed like to me at first, but—

What the—

This is—

This is _impossible!_

"I-I don't understand," I say shakily, turning my head back towards where I assume Bruce is still standing. Confusion is evident in my tone, and I'm sure my facial expression shows it as well.

"What, didn't they teach you to read well enough, or am I going to have to go over everything with you again?"

Now I'm _really _messed up. He actually sounds like he's kidding around with me, like he's… almost laughing? _Very_ strange!

"Th-That's not what I meant. I know what it says but… but these are adoption papers. With our names on them."

"I know."

"But—!"

"Dick."

I stop. There's something in his voice that I've never heard before. I can't quite identify what it is, but it makes him sound so much less formidable than a few seconds ago. I don't dare interrupt him now.

"These past few months, what with everything that's happened… it really got me thinking about our relationship. You've been living here for six years already. Seems like forever sometimes… you were always there when I needed you, and you've always done everything I've asked of you—of both you _and_ Robin. You're a good kid, Dick, and I…" Pause. "…and I love you."

Six years. I've been waiting to hear those words for _six long years_, and now that I've finally heard them, I don't know what to say in return.

Suddenly feeling tears form, I lower my unseeing gaze to the floor, only to have Bruce cup my chin in his hand and bring my head upwards again.

"What do you say?" he asks softly.

"What do I _say?"_ I manage to choke out. Feeling the tears beginning to escape down my cheeks, I know I'd better hurry up and say yes before I get so choked up that I can't even talk anymore. So I say with a little laugh, "What do you _think_ I say! It's about _time, _you old goat!"

He chuckles quietly and replies, "Watch it, chum—you're talking to your father."

"I know," I whisper.

Two strong arms pull me in for a warm hug.

And I hug back.

We just stay like that for a minute, enjoying each other's company. I don't even bother trying to stop crying anymore. I have a family again—a_ family!_

I can feel him giving me an extra little squeeze just before pushing away again. He takes his thumbs and wipes the tearstains away from my face. Then, quite suddenly, he pulls back and says briskly, somewhat embarrassed, "Well, I'm certainly glad that's taken care of…"

I grin a little to myself. Whether I call him Bruce or Batman or even Dad, he'll always be the same. And that's just fine with me.

"Care to find out what Alfred has to say about this?" he says.

"I'd rather find out what _Wally_ says," I reply with a smile.

"I'd rather _not._"

I manage to laugh through the tears as he says this. Now Bruce—no, _Dad_—puts an arm around my shoulders and gently leads me downstairs to the kitchen.

And we all live happily ever after.

_**The End**_

* * *

**Me: Did I actually write that? I am so sorry... I don't know what got into me... all I know is that I LOVE adoption fics and that I didn't thinkthere were enough. So I decided to write one myself.**

**Dick (stunned): You... you _blinded_ me?**

**Me: Uh, yeah... hehe... I hope that's okay with you...**

**Dick (even more stunned): And then you... you had me _adopted?_**

**Me (a wee bit nervous): Um, yeah. And I'm not really 100-percent sure if Wally's uncle is named Barry. I'm PRETTY sure... but now I can't remember his last name. The name 'Gibb' keeps coming to mind, but I know THAT'S not right... Allen! Barry Allen, that's it... I think... **

**(is suddenly tackled to the ground by Dick)**

**Dick: Yippee! Thank you thank you thank you!**

**Me (mightily confused): Uh... so I guess being adopted overrules being blinded, huh? Hehe... (mutters) Looks like I'll be 'Stayin' Alive' a little longer... I know, bad pun... (louder) Well, nice way to end the fic, huh?**

**_Reviewer Replies_**

**Robin Knight-**Sorry about the chapter not showing up right away. She really did update, but the site wouldn't show it. Even TAP couldn't see it. But it's visible now! Enjoy!

**kokomocalifornia-**Thank you! 8) I hope this chapter satisfied your need for 'more'.

**Selene-**Well, they knew Bruce was coming home; that's why they were there. I was the only one who knew I was sick, though. And you're right about the party pooper thing, but I guess that just served the plot better (if there is a plot). She's glad to hear you liked it though!

**perfectdisaster-**It was a little vague, huh? I only knew it because I peeked before she posted it (cheating, cheating...). Maybe this will take away the rest of the horrible suspense now. ;-)

**60's-bat-fan-**Here's the update! Right on time! I hope it was worth the wait.


End file.
